


Budding Flower

by Manic_Misanthrope



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Battle, Canon-Typical Violence, Crimson Flower, Drama, During Canon, F/F, Gen, Light Angst, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2020-12-01 23:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20926808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manic_Misanthrope/pseuds/Manic_Misanthrope
Summary: It has been over a year since Garreg Mach fell to the Imperial Army, two years since the first fateful meeting and nothing has remained the same. Set between White Clouds and Crimson Flower this covers the events in the Empire, Kingdom and Alliance.





	1. Crimson Ashes

It had been three weeks and a year since Garreg Mach fell, the first blow dealt by the resurgent Adrestian Empire against the Church Of Seiros, the first grand battle of the new Emperor's reign ended in a convincing victory: the Knights had been driven out of the mountains, not even the Immaculate One herself was able to turn the tide once the battle had reached her, but as the Emperor walked through the moonlit ruined halls thinking back to that fateful night the thoughts turned sour in her mind.

Shattered stone and fallen statues still lay across the paths and courtyards turning an architectural marvel into a graveyard of masonry, artisans and builders from across Fodlan had descended on the once holy site to rebuild it in her name and complete the insult by transforming the seat of divine power into a second Imperial capital. But as far as Emperor Edelgard the First cared, the mountains themselves could have fallen down if only one person made it through the first battle.

“Lady Edelgard,” a familiar voice called out behind her earning a heavy sigh from the young ruler “It's not safe to be out here yet, the reconstruction effort hasn't touched this part of the fortress.”

“I know, Hubert.” Edelgard replied curtly, continuing to stare off into the darkness, a faint shimmer of red as the stars shone on her horned crown.

“I know this might not be what you wanted to hear but-”

“Then don't say it!” the Emperor snapped, rounding on the black haired mage.

“...As you wish my Emperor.” Hubert reluctantly replied with a deep bow, spinning on his heel as he retreated back to his quarters, leaving Edelgard alone in the dark as he strode down the halls, watching over the chasm.

He wasn't surprised to see a certain green haired scholar still awake at this hour, even locking the library at night had not stopped his moonlight ventures into the world of books, piles on various subjects fortifying him in as he sat on an old bench in the reception hall “I take it that our Glorious Leader hasn't returned from her vigil.” Linhardt casually mentioned, his eyes not raising from his tome as Hubert stopped abruptly in front of him, not even flinching as he felt the glare piece him through the increasingly unkempt black mop.

“Is there a reason that your own dormitory couldn't contain you or your insipid comments?” Hubert asked, not even bothering to conceal the venom in his words.

“There's only so many times I can re-read what I managed to take,” Linhardt yawned “Judging by your reaction though, I'm going to assume that she's still waiting for her to show up?” he asked, gaining only a narrow glare from the sinister servant “Of course she is. Two years after they first met. Two years and a day, sorry. We passed midnight... five minutes ago.” He finished, glancing at the mostly melted candle.

Instead of continuing to stare down the sleep schedule-less scholar in the hopes that maybe he could make the green haired man feel shame by sheer force of will, Hubert sat down next to him with a deep sigh “I don't know what would be worse,” he confessed “finding her dead, washed up on the banks of the river, or this sorry state of affairs continuing,” the dark magic master mused, not even noticing Linhardt paying attention to him for the first time in his life “Perhaps some closure would do us all the world of good but still...”

“Losing the one you love is always painful, and not every wound heals with time but fester instead.” Linhardt concluded, leaving the normally stoic Hubert gaping at him.

“H-how?” He stuttered, trying to process what the green haired healer had just said.

“Isn't it obvious? I mean, I noticed the way Edelgard looked at the Professor during classes, and outside classes...generally whenever they were in the same room together. It was like how several knights used to look at Dorothea, only due to her lack of height she didn't even have to look down before blushing,” Linhardt explained “Didn't you know?”

Rallying his composure, Hubert pursed his lips together as he mumbled out an excuse “Well, she did have a slight fixation but that was more due to the fact that we now had a potential ally with no ties to the church or any existing establishment that might raise objections to our plans to eradicate both the influence of the church, crests and the existence of hereditary rule.”

“It was not that.”

“Yes it was.” Hubert insisted through gritted teeth.

“Oh well in that case I'll have to inform our resident songstress that various conversations with our emperor didn't happen. Quite weird seeing as she remembered them in such vivid detail, follys of the human mind I guess,” the scholar shrugged “Maybe you should get some sleep Hubert, one of the Strike Force has to be alert in the morning. Which is technically now.”

Enraged by the line the conversation had taken as he was, Hubert did have to concede the final point even if he wasn't going to grant Linhardt the honour of admitting it. There was only so much coffee could do against the basic human need for some rest. There were plans to be made in the morning, battle stratagems, logistical operations, messages from whatever informants they'd managed to establish, things that would require Hubert to be at the top of his game and that required him to retire for the night, but not without guaranteeing the Emperor's safety first.

Taking the trek back to the outskirts of the monastery Edelgard had barely moved from her spot overlooking the edge of the cliff, her heavy armour silhouetted as a grey statue in the dark of night “I know it's you again Hubert,” She called out as the footsteps stopped behind her “What time is it?” she asked, still not looking back.

“It is the following day, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert answered honestly “While I'm reluctant to sound like a nagging parent to the rightful ruler of Fodlan, it is past time you got some rest.”

“Why? It's not like I even know what a good night's sleep is any more.” She scoffed, waving an arm dismissively with a sigh.

“That's...well... you could at least suffer in greater comfort than the cold in your armour.” Hubert tried, straining himself to think of ways to convince her.

“I am not suffering. I am waiting,” Edelgard insisted, her hand balling into a fist “She will be back... she has to be.”

“And the Professor will be back, just not now,” Hubert tried, attempting to hide the uncertainty in his voice “And if she were to return in the middle of the night, I'm sure she would appreciate it if you tried to look after yourself in her absence.”

“Fine,” she sighed in defeat, metal clinking with each step as she turned to face the monastery, her eyes hidden in the shadow of her crown “I'll go back.” she promised, trudging through the ruined stonework back to her old dorm room, leaving Hubert to stand alone in the night, looking into the abyss that had snatched the first true joy in ten years from her, plotting how to make it right.


	2. Azure Banners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trading the Heights of Garreg Mach for the halls of Fhirdiad, Archbishop Rhea has not stirred from her room since her arrival in the Kingdom's capital. With a conflict that threatens to engulf all of Fodlan entering it's second year, nerves are fraying and tempers are rising.

The cold winds howled through the open windows of the Palace even under the Great Tree Moon, halls once left bleak and barren from disuse had become filled with war banners and precious items rescued from the ravages of war. Silver sparkled in every corner as Lord Regent, Rufus Blaiddyd, stomped through in a foul mood. His normally pristine short blond hair was ruffled instead of it's usual slicked elegance, fair stubble had broken out across his neck and chin, thick furs surrounding his shoulders as he marched down the corridor and to the large doors at the end.

Only two guards stood between him and what he was after and he was fond of neither: the woman clad in white enamelled armour was a known fanatic despite the more boisterous personality she projected, he could have spoken a thousand words and they'd all fall on deliberately deaf ears if she thought that he had ill feelings towards the one in the room, and as for the older man that stood on the opposite side, well...

“Good day, Gustave,” the Regent began, noticing the miniscule wince of pain from the older red-haired man “As the ruler of this Kingdom, which you swore an oath to serve may I remind you, I order you to open up these doors and allow me in to a room _within my own palace_.” He demanded, volume increasing with every word.

“Only the Archbishop can permit entry to her quarters.” The man who preferred to go by Gilbert replied cautiously, as though repeating from a script he'd only just memorized.

“How can she give permission when she never leaves? Open this damn door! Or is she dead and you just don't want anyone to know it!?” Rufus yelled, ignoring the clink of armour as the Knights of Seiros moved to surround the ruler, but what he couldn't ignore was the crackle of Thunderbrand as the holy relic glowed deep red, the weapon hadn't been drawn but the message was clear.

“My dear Rufus, you must calm yourself.” Came the easing tones of a friendly voice from behind the wall of steel as the knights parted to let the new arrival through. While even the most hardy of men would huddle by the fire in thick hides in a Faerghus winter, Lady Cornelia's neckline seemed to plunge lower the thermometer but despite (or because of, in the case of Rufus) her questionable attire, her presence was a welcome sight in a stressful situation, even the relic calmed down at the sight of the Strawberry-blonde haired woman.

“Cornelia... forgive me for acting so rashly,” Rufus began “But it has been a year since we so graciously welcomed the Archbishop into our domain, and she has failed to present any information as to why the Empire attacked the Monastery so suddenly.” He explained.

“You see Sir and Madam, Lord Blaiddyd wishes the Archbishop no harm. He merely feels that for all the people of Faerghus have provided for her and the church in exile, that an explanation is the least that can be given in return. War ravages both the Silver Maiden and the Southern Passes, men and woman alike are cut down without knowing why they should be raising arms. Surely Lady Rhea would grant a reason to this otherwise senseless slaughter?” Cornelia pleaded with the two loyal knights as the others returned to their posts.

“What's there to explain?” Catherine dismissed “They attacked, we're fighting back. There doesn't need to be a bigger reason to fight a defensive war. You don't exactly get time to mill around thinking about the why when there's an axe swinging at your head.”

“I'm sorry, Lord Rufus. But we cannot allow you in to her private chambers. I will however inform the Archbishop of your concerns.” Gilbert added solemnly.

“I guess that's it then.” Rufus sighed.

“Pretty much. Go spend time with your family.” Catherine told him, nodding her head towards the other end of the corridor.

“Advice all of us would do good to accept,” Cornelia jumped in, taking Rufus by the hand and leading him away before the Regent could get an acidic jab in at the knights' expense “Come now, Prince Dimitri is likely still in the training yard at this hour, perhaps if the loyal forces were to see their Lord as well supporting them...”

“Forget it,” Rufus cut off “They all seem to have accepted the boy as king already, what good would my presence do? Send for a runner and have him attend my study once he's done massacring a league of scarecrows.” he sighed as he walked down the spiral stairs, wincing at the blades of light that pierced through the arrow slits to his private quarters.

With a snap of his fingers, the fireplace roared into life dispelling the chill of the early spring and illuminating the room. The pelts of giant wolves covered the floor and tomes covered the walls. It was said that in a Kingdom where it is preferred even amongst the Nobility that it is more important to wield a sword than a quill, Rufus' own library was the most expansive collection of books in the land, but more importantly to the Lord Regent now, it also contained his own personal reserve of wine, which he was frantically searching for the key to so he could fully prepare for the upcoming meeting “Gloucester Red... in honour of the anniversary of the Crescent Moon War, as though there isn't always some year that needs honouring... ” he mused, inspecting the labels strung around the necks of glass bottles “...A waste to use on someone who can't enjoy the taste... Ah, a spoil of my brother's victory, that should do.” He declared, pulling out a cork stoppered bottle labelled “Sreng.”

It wasn't long after he'd poured out two cups then the knock on the door came, allowing him just enough time to lounge back in his chair before the Crown Prince walked in formally, looking as fragile as the swords that ended up in his hands. While as stressful as the past year had been for Rufus, he did not envy Dimitri one bit, after all: the Regent had the advantage of not personally knowing the Emperor that was now assaulting everything the Kingdom held dear “Cornelia said you wished to see me, Uncle?” he asked nervously as a scruff of red hair appeared behind him.

“Gautier,” Rufus sighed “Usually when the Regent summons the Prince to his private quarters, it means no hangers on.”

“Uhh... hey, well, it was the Prince's decision!” Sylvain Gautier tried to accuse “Lady Cornelia herself showed up to pass on the message and well, I was in the training yard getting tossed around at the time so his highness thought it'd be better if I joined him and he didn't leave me alone with her.”

“T-that is not how it happened!” Dimitri denied.

“Well in that case, my nephew has saved you a great deal of fruitless effort,” Rufus told Sylvain, ignoring Dimitri's protests of innocence “She's out of your league.” He said, taking a sip of the sharp white wine.

“You wished to see me, Uncle.” Dimitri repeated as if to restart the entire conversation while Sylvain tried not to laugh.

“Ah yes, take a seat. You too Gautier, you may be useful for this as well.” Rufus said, pouring an extra cup.

“Useful for what?” Sylvain asked, eagerly taking the offered wine without waiting.

“Lady Rhea. Our esteemed guest.”

“Whoa! If Lady Cornelia's out of my league you really think I've got a chance with the Archbishop? Don't they have to do a vow of chastity or something?” Sylvain jumped to as both members of the royal family collectively rolled their eyes.

“Sylvain, he clearly does not intend for you to seduce an Archbishop.” Dimitri insisted.

“Really? Because I could try if we really need to... okay, serious conversation. Knocking it off. Sorry your highness.” The redhead retreated into his chair under Rufus' glare.

“I know thinking back may be difficult which is why I've been content to let sleeping dogs lie for a year. But none of the church of Seiros is prepared to give me answers as to what happened at Garreg Mach so I have to ask,” Rufus said, peering through steepled fingers at the prince and the knight in training “What happened thirteen moons ago, and why do they refuse to talk about it?”

Both young men looked at each other nervously “I... know nothing,” Dimitri confessed “The order to evacuate the students was given two days before the school fell. We were marching through Magdred Way when we heard that the Empire had taken it.”

“Sorry sir, but other than rumours and who attacked... that's pretty much it.” Sylvain confirmed.

“Then feel free to add those rumours to the collection.” Rufus responded, reaching for a scroll discarded by his chair, previously hidden in the deep fur and tossing it to his nephew, his eyes widening as he read every word.

“Defections from the Knights of Seiros... I know these names... how could they? What happened?” the blond read from the top while Sylvain, reading over his shoulder, skipped ahead.

“She's a what!?” He yelped.

“Keep your voices down, there's enough rats in armour already in this palace without them swarming on us like we're a discarded cheese platter.” Rufus hushed.

“If this is true then... I can't believe this...” Dimitri breathed.

“Neither could I, yet Cornelia insists that they're truthful, or at least the people who gave them believed that they were truthful.” The regent grumbled, taking a more substantial swig of wine.

“So what's this got to do with us?” Sylvain asked once he regained his breath, his cup hand shaking so badly that wine splashed onto Dimitri's leg.

“You were students, I was not. You are the rightful heir to the throne, I am not. You may be able to convince someone to let you talk to Lady Rhea while they refuse me. Do whatever it takes, within reason.” Rufus explained.

“I'll do my best uncle.” Dimitri nodded.

“I'll get the rest of the Lions onboard as well Lord Rufus, we'll have them opening up in no time.” Sylvain assured him.

“See to it that you do, now back to your training.” the Regent commanded, draining the last of his cup as the two young men left him, and once they had shut the door behind him, the rest of the bottle as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to imagine that Rufus Blaiddyd bears a lot of resemblance to Rufus Shinra in appearance. Only in blue velvet and white fur clothing instead of a business suit.


	3. Verdant Cloth

As the morning sun shined bright across the bay of Derdriu, the racket of economic progress pounded against Claude Von Riegan's ears from the factories and dockyards that lined the city's waterfront. He knew he shouldn't pay it any mind, but to be so damn loud the morning after a coronation had to be against some sort of law. Surely he was not alone with having a hangover this morning! There had to be some foreman who had also hit the bottle too hard, or a captain who decided that he didn't like the look of some of the clouds and instead called off loading his ship.

“Arresting innocent workers... that'd be a poor start to my reign. Probably not the worst...” Claude mused as he rolled out of his bed. So much had happened so quickly that it was difficult to keep his head on straight even sober. Lord Riegan had barely enough time to go cold before the usual suspects started to squabble over the corpse. The Weathervane in particular had been the most prevalent cause of the young leader's latest habit to the point where even the Count of Gloucester was reprimanding him for being a little shit at a public funeral, he at least had the decency to wait until after the wake to start his own campaign of making a nuisance of himself at every opportunity. Being ruler of the Alliance sounded like a sweet deal on paper but that parchment had some fine print that could not be read by the finest lenses in the land.

Still, as the freshly put upon leader of the Leicester Alliance, he had to present some semblance of giving a damn what they thought, and as such he got himself dressed in his new golden garb before heading out through the door “They already in there?” he asked offhandedly to the nearest guard.

“Yes my lord, they have been waiting patiently for the past hour for your presence.” the guard answered obediently.

“Really?” Claude yawned “That long? Surprised Holst hasn't tried to punch the Weathercock yet.”

“Uh, well. Lord Holst sends his apologies but it is believed that the Almyrans are planning another batch of raids and as such...”

“Because what else do they do...” Claude said, not even bothering to hide the exasperation in his tone of voice.

“He has... he has sent a second to make decisions on his behalf, my lord, so the council is still full. As has Count Gloucester.” The unfortunate conversation partner said quickly, trying to change the subject.

“Wait,” Claude said, stopping himself “The purple haired phantom decided against showing up to the first official chance to demand to be bribed? What gives?” He asked.

“I-I...” Stammered the guard, clearly out of place with politics. He was paid to stand by a door and stab anyone who tries to go through who shouldn't, not mingle with the top nobs.

“Never mind, I'll see who he sent instead. He's probably got his own plots and schemes.” Claude waved off.

“Aren't plots and schemes the same thing?” the guard asked, before very quickly adding “My lord.” afterwards.

“Plots have paperwork, schemes don't. That's why I'm a schemer and not a plotter, saves time.” Claude explained to an increasingly confused guard. One who none the less rallied at the door to the Hall of the Roundtable.

“Lord Regent Of The Leicester Alliance, Head of House Riegan, Lord Claude von Riegan!” The guard declared to the assembly, trying not to notice how badly his liege lord winced at the sudden shouting.

“Gentlemen, and Ladies,” Claude began generically as he made his way around to the highest chair on the dias, only stopping the pre-rehearsed opening speech when he realised just who the new faces were “Hilda?” He said, shocked at the sudden presence of the pink-haired fighter.

“Surprised to see me, Claude?” She asked, elbows already on the table as she looked up with a sweet smile.

“The greater surprise is that you were up and alert before our new... leader.” Came the voice of the other newcomer to the council of nobles, a much less friendly face to be sure.

“And Lorenz! It's like a Golden Deer reunion!” Claude declared with open arms “Your hair looks better, too. Was the bowl cut a phase? Because if so, it's good to see you mature into an upstanding... individual. And no paper rose as well, I hardly recognised you.”

“If you are going to spend a decent chunk of time of your first Roundtable meeting of a new reign on being snippy schoolchildren then we are in dire straits indeed.” Came the almost shrill criticism from everyone's least favourite noble: The Weathervane himself, Acheron. Although the lack of anyone looking as though they were aching to punch him in the nose (more so than normal) told Claude that maybe he had a point. No sense wasting time squabbling before the meeting started, there was so much time to squabble during it.

“Alright then,” he said before Lorenz could add another comment “Consider the first meeting of the 20th Roundtable officially started! So what's on the agenda first? Forestry issues? Fishing disputes? Those can turn nasty pretty fast, must be all the time spent on boats in the cold.” Claude suggested, knowing full well what was going to be the first thing on the mind of the Alliance nobility, one way or another.

“There are more pressing matters than lumberjacks and fishermen.” Came the stern voice from Lord Ordelia, his short dark hair and bushy beard in stark contrast to his daughter's long white locks.

“Riiight...” Claude groaned “The looming threat of complete annihilation.”

“It is nothing so dramatic, Von Riegan,” said Lorenz, one of the most dramatic men Claude had ever known “But the war to the west should be a primary duty of this council. Preventing this bloodshed from spilling over into our lands is the most noble cause.” There was the Lorenz of old, unable to go a full conversation without talking about how noble he was. The longer hair hadn't changed much.

“Do you have any suggestions as to how to do that?” Claude asked, clasping his hands on the ornate oaken table.

“It's quite simple. We side with the Adrestian Empire against Faerghus. The only avenue the Kingdom has to attack is either through the Valley of Torment or chance a naval assault in pirate infested waters. The Empire is likely to win without the need of much assistance. Therefore we gain the spoils without putting ourselves or the Alliance at any risk.” the purple haired heir explained.

“I agree with the young sir! A Wonderful idea!” Chimed Acheron quickly. His normal strategy of backing the likely winner being played out beyond the normal borders was something that appealed. He could even claim later that it was his idea.

“Are you serious Lorenz?” Snapped Hilda, springing into life as she bashed her fist against the table “What happened to the 'faithful noble' stuff you used to say? Edelgard's put both parts of that on her list to wipe out and you want to bend down and kiss her feet?” the pink haired fighter spat.

“While I wouldn't put it in such crude terms,” Lord Ordelia began “Lady Goneril raises a valid objection to the young sir's proposal, Emperor Edelgard has made deliberate enemies of nobility and faith alike.” He said, trying to keep his own position close. He had no cause to love the Adrestian Empire after having made the poor choice but to back the Hrym revolt years earlier and rumours had abounded for years that the Imperial officials who had collected their due were responsible for the sudden 'illness' that claimed nearly all his children leaving only the white haired Lysethia alive, but on the other hand he was loathe to provoke the same wrath again by openly denouncing them.

That and Lysethia von Ordelia was now apparently working for that very same empire. That was also another sticking point.

Despite the young prodigy and the then Princess being in separate houses at the academy, the two were always surprisingly close, and that was before she decided to officially jump ship. She had said at the time it was to escape people calling her a child in the Golden Deer and Claude had thought nothing of it, it was school, she'd be back in the Alliance after graduation. But then the now Emperor had struck and everyone that had been in the Black Eagles at the time had stuck with her including two former classmates of Claude without even a letter to say why they were now suddenly cool with an Empire that most of them should have had ample reasons to despise. Something deeper was going on in the peaks of Garreg Mach and not knowing was eating away at Claude, after all the effort he'd tried to put in to finding the truth on he'd found himself out of the loop and watching on the sidelines as his two former friends tried to kill each other “So what do ya say Hilda? If we don't fight with them, what do we do?”

“Fight against them, obviously.” Hilda said, folding her arms and sitting back with a smile while the opposite side of the table erupted.

“Are you insane!?” Whimpered Acheron.

“Such an act of foolishness can only bring disaster to the Alliance!” Lorenz stated, his voice cracking with panic “The Kingdom stands little chance and they have all the chivalry of the north and the full might of the Church of Seiros!”

“Guys! Guys!” Claude yelled, bashing the table hard enough to be heard over the yells “Calm down. We're not here to bicker like schoolchildren, we're here to actually figure things out. Now: Lorenz, what makes you so sure that the Empire's got this war in the bag already?” He asked.

“The number of troops alone is drastically in the empire's favour,” Lorenz answered, pulling back to talk to Claude with a less haughty voice “If they so wished they could outnumber the Kingdom three to one at any battle without running the risk of fatiguing their forces. Even accounting for the difference in skill that is very difficult to defeat, even if they are more skilled every soldier lost hurts the Kingdom much more than the Empire.”

“But that's just the Kingdom, what about the Knights of Seiros as well? They're a military force in their own right.” Claude pressed on.

“True, the Church does have a sizeable military. But while the Archbishop rests in the capital, the two forces do not work together. It is not a united front and is likely to result in fighting between the two as Kingdom nobility turns against the faith for bringing the war to them. After that fragile pact crumbles the war becomes a formality. One we need to be on the winning side for, lest the Emperor turn her gaze towards us as enemies.” the purple haired noble explained as Hilda scoffed.

“Okay Hilda, you've got something to say, so say it.” Claude groaned.

“Edelgard started the war and is pushing on into the Holy Kingdom. It's a war of conquest, pure and simple. Claude, you remember how she kept saying that the Kingdom and Alliance used to be owned by the Empire? Now she's pushing forward to make it true again. That means we either fight now or fight later, and honestly? It's way easier to fight someone who's already fighting two groups already.” Hilda explained.

“Easy for you to say.” Lorenz murmured.

“What was that?” the pink haired woman asked with a scowl

“Merely a casual observation.” Lorenz dismissed.

“Oh no, you're not getting away with that. What did you say?” Hilda insisted.

“I think what Lorenz Hellman Gloucester said was that we're done for the day,” Claude interjected “We've reached an impasse with what to do, but I doubt the Kingdom is going to fall in a day so we can take a break and really size up the situation. Everyone's free to leave.” He waved off, as he casually walked out the door, taking a gulp of water on the way to try and soothe his pounding skull.

“So how'd it go?” Came a welcome voice from a welcome smile as the grand doors closed behind the new leader.

“Lady Judith!” Claude called out to the defender of the Alliance. Judith Daphnel was to the West of the Leicester Alliance what Holst was to the East, and also doubled as one of the few nobles who knew Claude well enough to be so casual with him.

“No need to stick 'Lady' in front of everything. You know me well enough to drop the formalities,” She dismissed “So how'd it go?”

“No-one got punched.” Claude shrugged.

“Well that's something I guess,” Judith nodded “Probably better that I wasn't in it, don't think I would have kept calm with the weathercock in there.”

“Judith, language,” He chuckled as he was led back to his own chambers “So what's going on with Gloucester. He's sending his son to Roundtable meetings now? Don't tell me Holst started sharing out those mushrooms.”

With a heavy sigh Judith pulled out a parchment from her belt and handed it to Claude “Worse, while his kid pleads, he's acting already.”

Running his eyes over the document, Claude groaned out loudly enough for his own personal guard to hear him “Selling arms to the Empire. That's great, good going Gloucester. Way to give them what they need to stab you in the back. Literally. Lot of swords, don't they have their own blacksmiths in the Empire? What's he getting from this?”

“Money I guess.” Judith shrugged.

“He's got money.”

“He's always been a miser. Maybe he's building a new vault and wants it filled?”

“See if your people can get more details then I'll put the brakes on it,” Claude sighed, handing the document back “Can't go calling him out on just this.” he said, walking out onto the balcony and wincing at the bright sun.

“Sure thing, Claude.” She said, grabbing the parchment and rolling it into her belt when the cry of a hawk echoed over the harbour. Judith readied her sword as it dived right at them, only to instead perch on the railing as opposed to lunging for their eyes, a scrap of paper tied to it's leg.

“Isn't that an Almaryan hunting hawk?” Judith asked with great suspicion.

“Well now it's a message hawk,” Claude dismissed as he gently pulled the message out “Someone must have smuggled it in to the city to train it.”

“Who?” Judith demanded as Claude ran his eyes over the paper, a smile growing wider with each word.

“An old friend.” He said, running his fingers over the hawk's head as it leaned into the stroke. Maybe there was some good news today after all.


	4. Crimson Campfires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the bickering in the Alliance to the bickering on the front lines. The Gaspard region is vital to both the Adrestian Empire and the combined forces of the Church & Kingdom and it will be here where the tide of war will be determined.

The town of Midcross, barely ten leagues north of Magdred Way, was covered in a blanket of spring fog and thick smoke. The combined armies of the Church of Seiros and the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus had laid their camps on either side of the river crossing that had given the town it's name, burning hundreds of bonfires that added choking black strands in the wet grey mist. A shadow of a tower looming over the town and the soldiers serving as a grim reminder of the rebellion that it's Lord, Lonato Gildas Gaspard, had risen in a disastrous desire for revenge against the Church six years ago.

Old wounds for the failed rebellion were not the only reasons that the locals had barred doors and boarded up windows. This was the front line against Imperial forces, a bulwark against the heretics and atheists that now proudly took roost in the once sacred monastery and a prime location to launch the counter-offensive against the Adrestian Empire. To use Garreg Mach as a forward base against the Kingdom it needed a way to resupply, the farms in the Oghma Mountains could never feed an army and even as a Military Academy it was dependant on its imports to feed everyone. That way was Magdred Way and both sides understood it well, it had been the first objective to seize after the monastery fell to Edelgard, creating a strip of Imperial controlled land in the Kingdom, and was a prime raiding target by any Faerghian Soldiers who dared to take the risk of falling foul of an Imperial patrol to seize glory in an attack on their caravans. Soon the order will be given to move in and cut Garreg Mach off from the North and starting what would no doubt be a painful siege but for now, the two armies waited, sending runners and birds less than a mile to communicate instead of the close commanders talking directly. Lest it be thought that the divisions between the Holy Kingdom and the Church were only found in the halls of Fhirdiad, the assigned generals, both knights of high esteem, could not tolerate each other a single bit.

Sir Gideon Von Nuvelle had been a servant of the Goddess for as long as he had been born to hear him speak and long before he had been officially ordained as a Knight Of Seiros, an austere man, shaved bald and baring cold grey eyes, quick to disapprove of any actions or habits that he felt were against the instructions of the Church of Seiros. As the armies had ridden out together he had frequently scolded his Faerghian allies for the coarse humour that had ran through their camp, especially ones directed at their shared target. “This is not a task to be done with glee in our hearts,” he had lectured after one knight had made their intentions as to what to do with Emperor Edelgard if they so happened to capture her quite clear “To take the life others, even vile heretics and apostates, is to be done because it is necessary, because that is their crimes and their just punishment. We are not to make sport of it and we are certainly not to reduce ourselves to that of common bandits out to pillage the land!”

Sir Isaac Leonard Rowe on the other hand was the third son to Lord Rowe in the north, and like many in the Kingdom's army had not approached the war with the sombre mood that his holy ally would enforce but a sense of pride. As a noble without a crest there was no inheritance to be gained from his father or his older brothers, no divine right to become a lord except as potentially the spoils of battle. By raising arms against the Church and Kingdom they had forfeited their claims to their lands in the eyes of the Goddess Sothis and perhaps in the now-unclaimed lands there would be keeps, halls and manors for any noble who acquitted themselves well, and what better way to do that than to make the first strike against the evil squatting in the sacred peaks? There were many young knights in his service that saw the war not just as defence of their home lands but as a rare chance to earn glory on the battlefield instead of swatting away bandits whenever they came to close. As he took aim at the practice butts to keep his aim sharp in the poor visibility a polite cough informed him that he was not alone “Ah, Ashe. Any news about the staff removal yet?” He asked the young man behind him as he loosed a shot, three rings out, not good, this damp might be seeping into the bowstrings.

“Staff removal?” The grey haired man with youthful freckles repeated.

“You know, to remove the-” Sir Isaac began before realising who he was speaking with. Ashe was a local lad, apparently he had been a thief as a child but Lord Lonato had taken him in once he'd been caught in the library. He was well liked by the townsfolk who remembered him when he had worked as part of the old Lord's household and he had studied at Garreg Mach as well meaning his knowledge of the territory had been valuable in setting the plans, and his innocent demeanour made him an ideal running boy between the two camps. Even Sir Gideon seemed to like him “-Anyway, have they had word from the capital?”

“Not yet Sir, the Knights seem to wish to establish permanent fortifications here.” The young runner replied, stiffer at attention than usual.

“There's a damn castle we could use and he wants fortifications here? Maybe he enjoys being knee deep in pig shit while he builds his pile of rocks. It's more holy if you can't get the stench out of the foundations.” Isaac cussed, notching another arrow as he tried to focus on the target.

“There was the mention of it building honest character.” Ashe confessed.

“I bet there was,” Isaac grumbled as his second shot landed closer to the centre, but still too far off for this distance “Well tell Gideon that if he wants stone walls then he can quarry it himself, he was insistent that we keep eyes on the river at all times, as though the Emperor herself was going to sail down from the mountains on a boat, and that means we lose the better defensive ground. If he can't get his head around tactics then ask why is he in command and if there's anyone else who'd actually be worthwhile!” He demanded as Ashe bowed quickly.

“Should I put all of that in writing?” He asked.

“Not all of it,” Isaac sighed as he pulled another arrow from the quiver in the ground “Just the important bits, no to fortifying these camps and another recommendation that we pull back to the castle. It's like the man isn't even reading these messages...” At the knight's command, Ashe scurried off to his own tent, pulling out a quill and writing the given message before scampering into the town itself.

While many would have expected the honest young man that was Ashe Ubert to go directly across the bridge, he knew the town well enough to know how and when to duck out of sight, into the alley and beyond the detection of any patrol even without the pea soup of a fog that covered the area. A pair of hooded figures stood out behind an inn as he skidded over the damp cobbles “Nothing interesting this time I'm afraid. The real message might be more damning than anything I could have created,” he whispered with a satisfied smile to the silent figure in the gloom, receiving a solemn nod in return “Might have to go the extra mile tonight though. If I recalled the schedule correctly,” another nod from the figure as a small club appeared out of it's sleeve “Please be gentle.” Ashe added as a dull thud bounced around the walls of the alley before disappearing in the dark.

Sir Gideon Von Nuvelle sat in the commander's tent, quill in hand as he penned another letter to the capital, asking for new supplies, authority to discipline the Kingdom's soldiers among other requests. The lack of responses had been troubling him: His messenger birds should not have been intercepted heading north, there had been no sight of Imperial outriders this far north or even foraging parties sent out to raid the countryside but word had still had yet to be received. Perhaps some hunter had gone hungry as harvests had been sequestered for the demands of war and had taken it upon him or herself to bulk up family rations with messenger pigeon, eating the evidence in a pie after realising the deed they had done “Messenger for you, sir.” A knight declared through the flaps of the tent.

“Must be the local boy, send him in,” Sir Gideon instructed, lifting his head from his evening work as he turned to face the newcomer “Ah! Ashe, how fares it in the-” he began as Ashe ducked his way into the tent, cutting himself off as he caught a glimpse at something that should not be on the smiling face “Goodness gracious!” He declared “Who did this to you?”

“Oh, this?” Ashe asked, pointing the conspicuous black eye, wincing as he touched it with his finger accidentally “It's nothing to worry about. Just a rock, I should have ducked it but I misjudged how fast it was it was coming in the fog and I was trying not to slip on the cobbles.”

“This happened in the town? One of the peasants threw a rock at you?” Gideon tried to decode.

“I think someone shouted something about their sister,” Ashe said without a single wobble in his voice “But I'm not sure, could have imagined it. This war is really putting a strain on the townsfolk.” He added, trying to direct the knight's anger away from the town and towards it's intended target.

“This'll be that accursed cavalry again!” Gideon concluded, spitting out his accusation “Its not the horses that need to be gelded in that army. Is this really the finest the Kingdom has to offer?”

“I wouldn't like to cast aspersions on Sir Isaac, but no one of the Blue Lion class would have behaved in such a way,” Ashe answered somewhat more shakily, he wasn't fully positive about Sylvain but even he probably knew when not to take it too far “Message for you.” He added quickly, handing out the scroll.

“Let's see here...” Gideon sighed, unfurling the scroll, not even bothering to question why it was in Ashe's handwriting. If the young man had written it, then the knights had said it “I suggest constructing a Palisade wall and he thinks I'm going to build a grand hall here!?” the holy knight shouted, reading further “Who does he think he is? The... Ashe! Tell him that I'll be heading to his camp once I'm armoured up, take a helmet and don't take a chance with the stones and he can answer for his impudence.”

“Tonight!?” Ashe yelped “Isn't it too dangerous? It's already late and with the fog...”

“Perhaps it is a blessing from the Goddess that there is such a grey blanket, it will spare him from the humiliation in front of his entire levy.” Sir Gideon growled as a squire quickly darted into the room and Ashe left it just as quickly, with a bow of course.

Rushing back through the town, Ashe made another stop at the hooded figure “I fear we may have over played it,” he admitted as he caught his breath “Gideon is meeting Isaac tonight. We'll have no time to prepare for when I'm rumbled.” a quizzical tilt of the head of the hooded figure before it beckoned him closer, the creaking of a coal cellar leading the silver haired youth down a dimly lit ladder and in to an impromptu meeting room, birds cooed and cawed as he entered and the clatter of spears picked up before dying down. A small firepit had been dug with a pot of water, still simmering above it.

A row of rough-clothed men sitting among crates branded with an Imperial crest slowly relaxed as Ashe's eye was drawn to the woman sitting at the table, a mug still in her hands as she sat back, her orange hair glowing brighter than the flames. “Hey Ashe,” she called out “What's going on?”

“Things are moving fast Leonie. The attack needs to happen tonight or they'll realise how badly we've been sabotaging things here.” The archer announced.

“What? Crud, they've probably settled for the night already,” Leonie jumped as she stormed over to the various bird cages, attaching a sliver of parchment around the leg of a crow and flinching as the razor sharp beak lunged at her “You'll get fed tonight dammit!” She hissed as she lead it out to the surface, dark wings flapping through the mist and gloom “The hell are you guys hanging around for then? Get into position!”

* * *

Sir Gideon rode through the town in a foul mood, not even bothering to observe pleasantries with the watchman of the Kingdom's camp as flames reflected in his polished white armour “Rowe!” He yelled at the top of his voice as the sound of hooves on cobbles was replaced by the squelch of hooves on the marshy floodplain that flaked the river “What in the name of the Goddess have you and your rabble been doing?” he demanded as he found the knight standing around a cooking pit, waiting for the camp followers to be done with a boar they'd hunted.

“Getting food, it's supper time,” Sir Isaac answered dryly “Or is it a fast day? War can make you lose track of things like that.”

“Not the pork you upstart!” Gideon snapped as heads slowly turned to the arguing commanders “Your message boy was hurt in the town earlier today and you have nothing better to do than be snippy!”

“Message boy... Ashe got attacked?” Isaac let out in confusion, backing away from the spray of spittle before returning one in kind “Then why haven't you tracked down the dastard that attacked him!? Or is chiding me so important that you'd prefer to be a school teacher rather than a knight?”

“He wouldn't have been attacked if your motley crew of degenerates had behaved themselves!”

“What are you even on about old man?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about!”

“I know you've been talking nothing but rubbish since we left Arianrhod and if I have to hear one more pious bleating-!”

“SIR ROWE!” Came a deafening shout from the edge of the camp, a watchman in Faerghian blue sprinting to the arguing knights, his chain mail jingling as he ran, only pausing for breath once he'd arrived between the two “It's... the fog...the...” he panted, doubled over from exhaustion.

“Spit it out, man.” Sir Isaac demanded, turning away from Gideon to confront the newcomer.

“It's the Empire!” The watchman gasped “The fog... it's lifting and they're charging at us!”

“WHAT!?” Isaac and Gideon yelped “That damn fog's concealed their approach!” The Knight of Seiros concluded.

“But... how did they know it was safe to charge? That fog should have covered our own as well...” the knight of Faerghus tried to piece together before shaking it off “Screw it, sound the alarm! Get as many forces through the town as you can! They're only hitting one side of the river so the more we can get over here the better chance we'll have,” Isaac commanded as Gideon quickly re-saddled his horse and galloped off as fast as he could “Armour up everyone! Battle is called! No time to rest!” He chanted, marching through the camp to fetch his helmet and weapons.

The fog thinned as Sir Gideon's steed bolted towards the bridge of Midcross, but the sun had long set and shadows could sometimes hide things better than the thick fog, such as a length of black painted rope stretched out across the main street and pulled taut, tripping his steed and sending both it and him crashing down to the ground, bones human and horse alike cracking on the cobbles. Struggling to pull himself up as muscles burned and his vision spun, he could just about make out a crowd bursting out of doors, flickers from flaming torches shining in polished helmets as a black eagle stood on a field of crimson on a raised banner. “D... dammit all...” He cursed before letting oblivion take him.

The battle was quick and brutal: Many knights had little chance to leave their tents or don their heavy plate armour before the Imperial cavalry was upon them, what little defensive barricades had been established were brushed aside, those in the Faerghian camp who tried to flee were caught by a battalion of Pegasus knights and driven into the river whereas those who had stayed out of either choice or slow reaction times were slammed into by the main thrust of the Adrestian army. Panicked cries of “The She-Devil!” and “The Emperor!” Filling the fears of those still not in the thick of the fight.

The Knights of Seiros rallied to their aid but Midcross had gone from a mild-mannered town into a death trap. Tripwires littered the main streets and ambushers stalked the alleys. Archers positioned on the rooftops filled the air with death as the first of the Church's airborne battalions were shot down with others preferring to stick to the ground rather than risk the relentless fire from below. Those who managed to make it to the vital crossing were quick to find a spear wall set up on the opposite side, locks of orange hair barely visible in the night-time chaos were the last thing many a knight saw before they were cast off over the edge and into the drink, falling to watery graves as their heavy armour pinned them to the riverbed and above it all, standing on the roof of the inn, a young man with silver hair notched another arrow and fired it into the dark, a thud and a scream telling him that he had hit true.

* * *

The sun rose over the eerie calm on the battlefield, the surviving Knights of Seiros had issued a full retreat back to Arianrhod, those whose loyalties laid with the Holy Kingdom still alive after their camp had been crushed were restrained and awaiting their fate with dread. Barrels used to supply both forces were being rolled into the town itself which had flung open windows and doors to receive them. Grain seized by soldiers for the war effort, preserved meats and the officer's rations of wine were all gathered in the town square, awaiting distribution. There would be a celebration here later but not this morning, not when the battle was still quite as fresh in the minds of everyone.

A new tent, one adorned with with Adrestian red banners instead of Faerghus blue had been put up just outside of the battle site, the guards flanking the entrance letting both Ashe and Leonie through with a proud salute and beaming smiles. Although the tired but sincere smile from the woman in the tent meant more to the both of them “Well done. Without you this victory may not have been possible.” Emperor Edelgard said, her eyes heavy from a lack of sleep as she sat down, still dressed in her crimson armour, the gold enamel lightly dusted with the blood of those unfortunate to be in her way the previous night and her horned crown had not left her hair at all.

“Thank you your excellency!” Ashe responded quickly, his voice wobbling slightly. He always had a problem with talking to royalty, and despite everything both Dimitri and Edelgard had allowed while within their presence, old habits seemed to die hard.

“Worked out just like Ashe said it would, the fog and everything got them angry at each other, if they'd waited any longer they might have fought between themselves and left us to clean up the winner.” Leonie said with smug satisfaction. The mercenaries that Ashe had helped smuggle into the town had been her personal picks and they'd all stuck to the plan with only a few injuries suffered.

“Indeed, it looks like the armies forgot the strategies used by Lord Lonato otherwise they would have suspected something was wrong with the fog, but the plan to divide them worked better than I'd hoped. I didn't think such levels of deceit were possible from you, Ashe.” The emperor said with a smile.

“Well... I... your excellency...” Ashe stammered, suddenly coming down with a bad blush.

“One lie deserves another, right Ashe?” Leonie laughed, slamming her palm into the archer's spine “That's what he said about the church. Keep it up and you might give Hubert a run for his money.”

“They concealed so much from all of us, I just thought it might be an idea to return them in kind.” Ashe insisted, straightening up.

“Regardless of the method, the area is ours. You said they left the tower unoccupied, correct?” Edelgard moved on, standing up straight.

“That's true, they were concerned that my father's staff would turn hostile, not thinking the town would do the same.” Ashe answered promptly.

“Good. That's one thing we won't have to concern ourselves with, even a light garrison might be difficult to remove once entrenched,” Edelgard sighed “Still... there is one thing we still have to do here before we can return to Garreg Mach and plan our next move. Ashe, Leonie, if you would follow me, please?” The Emperor in red requested, slowly walking out of her tent and towards the town, trying to not let her heavy armour sink into the mud as she walked into the town square.

“Your excellency?” Ashe asked, confused as the townsfolk popped heads out of their windows, wondering why their new ruler was so calmly walking into the centre of town.

“Sword,” she demanded from one of her guards, who promptly gave up his own weapon to hand to his Emperor “Kneel,” she commanded of both Leonie and Ashe, glaring at them both until they complied. Unsheathing the blade, she inspected its handiwork, noting the weight and size of the sword as she held it in her hands. Then with the flat of the blade, she pressed the metal into Ashe's shoulder, first his right and then his left. The townsfolk, previously content to watch out of windows had now left their dwellings to get a better look. Children had climbed up to where archers once stood, craning their necks to see one of their own receive an honour that would not have been thought possible in the Kingdom “Rise, Sir Ashe Ubert. Knight of the Adrestian Empire.” She announced as the crowd burst into cheers, forcing the Emperor to raise her voice as she tapped Leonie's shoulders “Rise, Sir Leonie Pinelli. Knight of the Adrestian Empire!” She declared as the cheers raised to a fever pitch. Ashe and Leonie rose as knights, the mercenary ruffling the young archer's hair as they stood in the town square. “Enjoy it. You've earned at least one day feeling like heroes.” Edelgard whispered as her personal guard escorted her back to her camp, leaving the two members of the Black Eagle Strike Force to the cheering crowd. Two crestless commoners from different corners of Fodlan, now knights under the same banner. It was the sort of thing story books were made from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was probably the single longest chapter I've ever written. Two days and 4000 words... probably not going to see the likes of that for a while.


	5. Silver Coins

In a tavern north of the fortress city of Arianrhod, the chill of a Northern wind was beaten back by the roaring fireplace, but the whistle it left through the windows still sent shivers down of the hooded travellers sitting at the table. Noise that would have been drowned by the music of a bard or a set of overly friendly (or rowdy, depending on what day it was) patrons talking loud enough to be heard all the way at the Rhodos Coast was now left undisturbed as it flickered through the common room.

A burly innkeeper mumbled to himself as he slammed the wooden shutters closed with a sharp crack. In good times he would have been able to pay people to do basics like this for him while he watched the bar from the hoard of drunken treasure hunters, boating about how they were going to be the ones who would brave the haunted Lake Teutates and claim the treasures that were said to be floating on the lake-bed, and the smaller group of adventurers who had already been there chugging back the strongest wine provided to regain their composure. Those days seemed long ago now, the whole of County Rowe was too close to the western lines for anyone to visit on an adventure and the war itself had claimed many of the young men who would have filled their ranks. Now, only the locals called by the inn, not enough to sustain a staff, barely enough to sustain a family in these tough times. At least today was slightly better than the rest, a pair of travellers: brother and sister had walked through the doors as the sun dipped beneath the mountains. "'Nother ale, good sir?" He asked the elder of the two, the brother had been drinking all evening but did not show a single sign of it, as though he was impervious to the alcohol.

"Please." Was the quiet response as another silver coin appeared between his gloved fingers and pressed into the innkeeper's palm. A cursory glance told him it was legitimate, practically fresh from the royal mint, and with that he went back behind the counter to ready another tankard before the door opened again.

"Boy, it's supposed to be spring but there's more of a crunch in the grass it's so cold." The newcomer declared in a jovial tone as he shut the door behind him, theatrically shivering as he headed over to the fire, throwing back his rain cloak to reveal a messy hedge of brown hair on top of his head contrasted with a well groomed beard running alongside what seemed to be a permanent smile. Both the travellers sitting at the table looked up quickly at the newcomer, pausing in their hoods as they recognised him.

"Brother, is that-" the smaller hooded figure, the younger sister whispered.

"Yes." the elder brother replied curtly.

"But he-" the sister began

"I know." he replied again, trying to hush her.

"But I said-"

"I remember." he said, his voice aching with frustration as the new arrival proudly strode towards the bar.

"Good evening!" this third traveller said with an honest smile.

"Er, yes..." The innkeeper replied, slightly perturbed by the sudden enthusiasm "What can I get ya?"

"Cup of ale, a meal if there's food and a room for the night if there is one." he answered

"Right, right, alright that'll be two gold for everyth'ng," the innkeeper coughed "So what brings someone out here in these days?" he asked as he reached for another tankard "Lord not called you up? Thought he'd like as many warm bodies for the demons to chew on." He chuckled for a brief moment before his normal, dour, expression returned.

"I'm... well... looking for someone..." the brown haired man confessed, his speech slowing as he seemed to repeat a script he'd had to learn "Got caught up in the fighting a while back... fairly unique... you'd know them if you'd seen them." he said, pulling coins out of a pouch and placing them on the counter.

"Yeah... lot of that thing happened 'round these parts," the innkeeper nodded "Hope you find your family..."

"Well, she's not strictly speaking my family but I..." the man rambled on as the innkeeper inspected the coins.

"Ey!" the innkeeper suddenly snapped, pounding his fist on the table "What's with these coins!?" He demanded.

"They're... coin-shaped?" the traveller suggested as one of the two hooded figures stood up from the table and slowly approached the bar.

"Imperial coins! What the hell are you doing in Holy lands with this guff?"

"Ah! There you are!" The hooded figure jumped in "Failed to recognise you with that unkempt mop."

"But I've always-" the brown haired man started before he pieced things together.

"You know this man?" The innkeeper asked "What's he doing with this coin then?"

"My friend here is a coin collector, it's frustrating, but it's who he is. Everywhere we went he had to keep at least one coin from the merchants as a reminder of where he'd been, and he'd buy any antique coins as well... then get us harangued at the next merchant when he tries to use whatever falls out of his pouch." The hooded man hastily explained.

"That only happened twice!"

"Ah... well, sorry good sir, can't be too careful in these times." The innkeeper apologised as the hooded man led his fellow traveller out.

"Yes, well if you will excuse us for a brief moment," the hooded man bowed as he pulled the traveller out of the door, his little sister scurrying behind them, only dropping the hoods when the door was firmly closed behind them. Waves of green hair blew freely in the wind as one of the highest ranking members of the clergy stood across from the traveller "Alois... what are you doing here?" Seteth sighed wearily.

"Well I could ask you two the same question!" Alois let out before wincing from Seteth's glare "But I get the feeling I probably shouldn't..."

"If you've been wandering around for the past year, it's probably for the best that we found you first. Catherine was incensed when she realised you weren't part of the knights any more."

"I uh... I bet she was. Were the words 'decapitating the traitor' mentioned at all?"

"Not _decapitating_, so to speak."

"Ah, well. That's that then..." Alois shuffled awkwardly "So apart from hearing about how people want to kill me, how've you been? Flayn, have you grown taller?"

"Where were you Alois?" Flayn demanded, stomping her foot as she balled her hands into tiny fists "I thought you would stay with me when we both ran back to the church!"

"Flayn, I..." Alois mumbled.

"Alois," Seteth sighed "I'm inclined to give you some benefit of the doubt, considering you made sure Flayn escaped Edelgard's camp after the... incident... in the Holy Tomb. But you have to admit you owe us some explanation on how a Knight of Seiros somehow managed to be missing from the Battle Of Garreg Mach. From both _sides_ of the battlefield. At least Manuella and Hanneman managed the evacuation before they vanished again."

Alois winced from the pressure, the cold wind stinging his ears as he leaned against the inn wall "It was... it's complicated. I was thinking that I probably should go back to the Knights afterwards, make sure everyone was safe but... Goddess, after what I saw, I didn't think I'd be able to look at the Archbishop without thinking of what happened...The way she just snapped at The Professor, and then looking down the mouth of a Dragon, it was... too much. Still is." The former knight shivered, colour draining from his face as he spoke

Seteth cursed under his breath. Up until Edelgard's grand reveal during the revelation ritual, Rhea's nature as the Immaculate One was a guarded secret. One that Seteth had thought was only shared between himself, Flayn and Rhea, the reveal that someone you knew had been secretly a Divine Dragon, one of the Children of the Goddess would have come as a serious shock to anyone "It's difficult to explain, I know, but there's a reason why the Archbishop reacted so harshly. The Crest Stones... well the details are not important, just know that they hold both immense power and are of great sentimental value to her beyond their status as holy artefacts."

"And that she's a giant Dragon, did you know that as well?" Alois asked.

"We... I did." Seteth nodded "Look, if the events of the Holy Tomb were that disturbing I would have been able to help. I still can and you know that. I still can if you wish to rejoin the knights, Catherine's rage will pass and Gilbert would be glad to have you back as a partner again. Perhaps away from the front lines initially-"

"It's not just that she's, you know..." Alois mumbled, making vague gestures.

"This is about the Professor isn't it..." Flayn sighed "About her and Jeralt."

"You uh, got it in one there Seteth," Alois replied with a nervous smile "I made a promise when Jeralt died to protect his kid. Can't go back on that one, even if I don't get why she sided with the Empire, I've still got a duty."

"You seem able to go back on your promise to the Church and the Knights." Flayn pointed out sharply.

"And I wasn't able to protect her either..." Alois sighed, his shoulders slumping "I'm a failure on both counts. Double oathbreaker. Although thankfully since they kill you for that I can only be punished once, hoboy..." he chuckled weakly.

"Is that why you're wandering?" Seteth asked.

"I thought I might find her, down river from the mountains... I guess I talked myself into thinking she might be alive after the battle since she just disappeared during the fight with Rhea... maybe it was just running away from admitting how badly I screwed the pooch." He said with no attempt of joy left in his voice.

"And what would you do when you found her?"

"Huh!?" Alois yelped, jumping backwards into the wall.

"What are you saying, brother?" Flayn asked.

"I'm asking what your plans are after finding her, alive I mean." Seteth explained, folding his arms

"You think she's still alive? Well, of course you'd know better than me, I mean I wasn't actually there when everything went to-"

"Alois, calm down, then answer the question."

"Well first I'd ask what the heck happened, and then again because she probably won't answer me the first time, you know how she can be when it comes to personal questions. She even denied Jeralt was her father the first time we met!"

"Alois..."

"Oh, right... well... I'd try and convince her to stay with me, maybe die her hair... then look at taking both her and the rest of my family out of Fodlan... maybe Dagda, just get away from the war and wait it out." The former knight confessed.

"And if she makes the same choice as she did in the tomb?"

"You mean if she wants to go back to Edelgard, fight against the church..."

"Yes, what would you do then? You'll be back in the same situation you were a year ago."

"I'd," Alois began, puffing out his chest "I'd..." he tried again as the words dried out in his mouth "I don't know what I'd do... I'd probably stick with her just to make sure I could do something to protect her but... I don't know if I could fight with Edelgard after everything she pulled as well, but I do know I can't fight with the Church any more." he admitted.

"Well... that's good enough for now." Seteth said after a long pause.

"Please try and convince her to run when you find her, I don't want to have to fight her." Flayn pleaded.

"You mean she's still..." Alois whispered, his eyes lighting up.

"From what I've learned about the former Professor Byleth, she is going to be very difficult to kill. If no-one has found her, then yes, she is more than likely alive, if a little hard to find," Seteth said as he and Flayn both raised their hoods "Now let's get back inside, the cold isn't something I'd want anyone to suffer through."

"Right!" Alois nodded, opening the door and walking back in "Oh, you never told me what you were doing. I'd thought you'd be at the capital with everyone else."

"You're looking for lost family, we are doing the same." Flayn said cryptically as the green haired family walked up the stairs, their paths once again splitting away from each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another thread to follow, this time with the Church of Seiros and what's happening to them during their exile from Garreg Mach. These will mostly focus on Rhea and Seteth, containing the creeping dread and angst of knowing that your family isn't what it used to be, and the way it's going is towards disaster.


	6. Azure Potions

Fires burned a feeble orange as several men peered over a copied scroll, edged with silver and bearing the symbol of the Church in Exile. Solemn expressions and tired eyes re-read the words in a bid to make them go away, trying to convince themselves that it was a trick of the light or their own exhaustion playing them for fools, only to find the same damning words slowly etching into their skulls. After a long silence the nominal leader of the group, Duke Rufus Blaiddyd, was the first to speak “Well shit.”

Under other conditions, the crude statement might have spurred cries of derision, but the only thing the others standing over the scroll and the map underneath could have accused him of was not letting them say it first. “Indeed.” Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius nodded.

“Tell me,” Lord Rowe said in a shaky voice “Is Isaac alive?”

“It makes no mention of Sir Isaac, but it does make note that the Kingdom's camp was completely overrun. If he has survived, I'd expect your castellan to send word,” Rufus answered in a level tone. Gaspard had fallen. His first strategy for the war was now in shambles, the troops Lord Rowe had sent from his holdings were likely dead or deserters, and the red tide moves ever closer to their doors. “I'm assuming the Archbishop is aware of the situation?” He asked, turning his head towards a shadowy corner of the room, the brightly coloured hair becoming visible in the gloom as Cornelia stepped forward. Her permanent serene smile contrasting with the scowls of the rest of the council.

“It was indeed the man who prefers to be known as Gilbert who handed the report to me, although whether Lady Rhea has seen the contents I cannot say.” She explained to numerous growls of discontent. Even the most pious of lords were starting to be openly frustrated by the silence from the Archbishop. When her second, the man known only to everyone as Seteth, had remained in the palace he was at least an effective intermediary. But he had set off months ago on a journey for 'additional assistance' whatever that meant, and hadn't returned since. With how scarce the orders had been since, Rufus suspected that the Assistant To The Archbishop had been taking matters into his own hands and not bothering to consult Lady Rhea.

“So we are once again alone in this fight. Thank you Cornelia,” Rufus acknowledged as he drummed his fingers over the canvas covering the wooden table “How fairs our efforts in the Alliance?”

“Duke Holst Goneril has been very receptive to our words, and his sister is very willing to take the fight personally to the Emperor herself-” Cornelia began.

“Heh!” Margrave Gautier laughed, a rare merriment in the trying times “She's braver than you, Rufus!” Too bad he wasted it all on insults.

“-But Holst added that he cannot act alone. While his allies are all willing to support our divine duty, he does not control the Alliance by himself and while he may argue in our favour, the young Lord Riegan may not listen.” Cornelia finished, her eyes shooting a withering glare at the Duke Gautier even though her smile never left her face.

“'May not', his words or your conjecture?” Rodrigue asked, pushing aside the cursed parchment to get a better view of the map.

“What difference does it make?” Rufus asked back, a hint of venom in his tone.

“If they are his words, then we need to be realistic about the possibility of a naval assault from the Alliance, it means that he himself does not believe he can sway the more cowardly members of the high table away from bending the knee to the Emperor at the first chance. Our fortunes are declining enough as it is.” Rodrigue answered in a dignified tone.

“I confess, Shield of Faerghus, my last remark was one of my own assumptions and suspicions,” Cornelia apologized, running her hand up Rufus' arm to calm him down “Claude Von Riegan is unpredictable. Before the death of his uncle many nobles of the Alliance were unaware of his existence and cannot ascertain his intentions during this time of strife.”

“In which case, we may not need Holst to immediately spur the Alliance into action,” Rufus pondered, cradling his chin “He merely needs to publicly remain a threat to the Empire. The Alliance can strike Enbarr with relative ease even if they lack the men to fight a pitched battle. If he remains prominent, then the Empire would be forced to keep a reserve in the South lest the capital be undefended.”

“A small blessing, but we need to focus on our own efforts now.”

“And we can start by reclaiming Gaspard!” Margrave declared, pounding his fist on the table.

“Yes, yes. We cannot allow an inch the King's lands to be taken by these... heathens!” Lord Rowe nodded in agreement.

“I am sure the church will agree with that sentiment,” Cornelia nodded “My Lords, if I may be excused?”

“Fine, you are free to leave,” Rufus agreed, waving goodbye before rounding back on Rowe and Gautier “With what force should we attempt to storm Gaspard's tower? May I remind you that the whole reason I declared that area so vital was because it squatted on the Monastery's supply route? An attempt at a siege will be met from both South and West, and if any of the Kingdom's fortresses were so easy to storm we would be overrun by now?” The regent argued as his court mage shut the door behind her, giving a cursory look around to see who was watching before walking back to her own quarters.

No-one, not even King Lambert or his brother Rufus had seen the contents of Cornelia's private abode, and for good reason. They would both ask too many awkward questions, ones such as 'why are those bottles on the shelf glowing blue even in pitch darkness? What is that glass monstrosity with the copper wires attached? Why does your bed look like a silver coffin with a glass window?' and so on. Those sorts of questions never ended well, they just resulted in more questions such as 'What are you going to do with that needle?' Better to avoid them altogether.

With one hand on a potion bottle as the mage flicked open what appeared to be a detachable top, she tapped her the glass creation in the middle of the room and waited for the purple light to fill the room “Shambala.” She whispered before an image flickered onto the surface of the glass, that of a veiled woman with inhumanly grey skin.

“_Pittacus speaking, how may I assist you.”_ Came the distorted voice through the glass itself, every syllable containing a brief hum.

“Pittacus, be a dear and put our dear leader through would you? I need someone to yell at.” Cornelia purred, taking a seat on the coffin-esque bed as she sipped the glowing blue potion.

“_Y-yes. There's no guarantee he'll answer but I can at least-” _The voice replied in a nervous panic.

“Just do it, less of the chit-chat.” The court mage growled as her face contorted with frustration.

“_B-by your orders.”_ Pittacus replied before her face vanished from the glass screen, replaced after a few minutes by a face that was much more recognisable to both Kingdom and Empire nobility alike.

“**Report.”** Duke Arundel demanded.

“Oh Thales, how are the war meetings down in the south. As tedious as the ones here? You'd think they've lost loved ones.” Cornelia asked in a sickly sweet tone.

“**The Weapon makes military decisions without my input.”** The Duke growled, the reverberations only adding to his annoyance.

“Considering how your plan went, I can see why. The overgrown lizard has been sitting here for a year and that brat is doing little more than make the glorified monkeys up here scowl, what is taking so long? Does she not realise that any year might be her last? We should be sweeping corpses into the Abyss by now.”

Arundel paused, waiting for Cornelia's rant to end safely before continuing **“The seizure of Garreg Mach, has not been a complete waste despite The Immaculate One's escape. The Fell Star was removed, and The Weapon still desires the end of the Dragons, regardless if that foul priestess chooses to sulk in her room or fight on the field and regardless if the Black Beasts are used or not. Progress is being made. The lands of the sun will be ours **_**eventually**_**. I am your superior, and I am ordering you to be patient. Kronya disliked patience, and we both know what happened to her.”** He concluded

“I'm merely stunned that you would let anyone else have a say in this,” Cornelia replied, running her finger over the bottle “Especially such a vital piece of your plan.”

“**The Emperor may have pretensions to independence, but that is all they are. Bother me when you have information to actually report, Cleobulus.”** And with that, the man's image was gone, and the room plunged into darkness with the exception of the glow of the potions.

“Oh Thales,” Cornelia sighed as she took another swig from the glowing bottle “Ever the optimist...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lockdown update! It's not abandoned, I swear.


	7. Verdant Pastures

Leathery wings beat a steady pace as a mass of wyverns flew over the countryside packed into a tight formation behind their leader as they blocked the midday sun, a shining white beast of the sky proudly soared through the sky, a mess of golden scarves clinging on for dear life as the wyvern twirled around, as happy as it could be in the fresh air. “Geez Pasha,” the rider grumbled from inside the mess of heavy clothing “Settle down, I want to get there in one piece, not as a splat on the castle walls.” Claude Von Riegan was seriously regretting his choice of transport as the albino wyvern enjoyed his longest journey of his adult life. It was a lot faster than a horse drawn carriage and with the battalion behind him it was much safer too. Not that he was expecting much danger, not on the roads at least.

Gloucester Keep, The Rose Citadel, loomed over the bright farms and pastures, the dark stonework standing proud on top of the solitary hill, surrounded by smoothly flowing rivers. These lands were some of the most fertile in Fodlan and a massive source of revenue for the otherwise landlocked House of Gloucester, making them an unfortunately indispensable piece of the Alliance. The orchards and wineries kept the lifeblood of diplomacy pumping while the smithies provided what was needed when diplomacy failed, and that was the problem when dealing with the Count.

Count Gloucester's lands were big enough to mass a significant army and rich enough to equip it, which meant dealing with the purple haired man required a light touch before his habit of trying to discreetly remove people who stood between him and power. Claude needed him to not be a double dealing asshole for once should Edelgard decide that two foes aren't enough for her and invade Leicester, which was why he was taking the fast route to meet him. Any day could be the last day of peace the Alliance would ever know.

It was a calculated risk, his life would be in the Count's hands but more to the point, everyone in the Alliance would know that Claude's life was in his hands. The new Duke Riegan was banking on Gloucester being smart enough to realise how bad an unfortunate accident would look on his watch to keep him out of trouble, plus Claude could say he was putting his trust in Gloucester's honour as a noble to butter him up.

“Descend to the keep!” The young Duke called out, keeping the reigns tight on Pasha in case he decided it was time to do more stunts as they came in to land, soiling the pants of anyone who wasn't expecting a Wyvern battalion to drop out of the sky on them. Credit must be given to the stable master who managed to keep an unimpressed expression on his face as the troop arrived.

“Duke Riegan I presume,” the man bowed as his stable hands panicked at the thought of housing all those Wyverns, the odd Pegasus was bad enough to keep grounded and they didn't want to go off hunting when they were hungry “I'm afraid the Count was not expecting you to be here so soon, I'm afraid.”

Claude chose not to comment on the repetition from one of the high ranking servants of House Gloucester “Does that mean our accommodation isn't ready yet?” He asked “Wouldn't want to burden a coach-house with this.”

“Rooms for yourself and your retinue are still available,” he said, tone still resolutely stiff as a plank “Count Gloucester will be in the grand hall-”

“I know the way, thank you.” Claude cut off as he made his way through the castle grounds, flower beds pressed up against walls to give dashes of colour to the otherwise busy area. You could say this about Lorenz's family, they never scrimped on appearances. It took an army of staff to make a keep this size look presentable and the Rose Citadel looked as fabulous as any palace. The other thing that stood out to the duke was the _sound._ Music from the grand hall could be heard even out in the courtyard. Not just one instrument either, but a cacophony of sound radiating from where Count Gloucester supposedly was. Indeed, the Count was there, although he had turned a dining hall into an opera house. “Ahem.” Claude coughed as politely as possible, hoping that if the Count did not notice, then one of the musicians would and alert Gloucester to his guest.

“Ah, Duke Riegan!” the Count announced, he was a man of slim build but surprising height which almost made it hard to see how far his purple hairline had receded. He dressed in a formal tunic dyed a rich burgundy and lined with golden thread, it was a wonder if he had any clothing that wasn't designed to impress whoever saw him that day, even if the only human contact he got was his wife “So gracious of you to travel to my humble abode.” he said with all the self awareness of a sea cucumber.

“Well met, Count Gloucester,” Claude replied, holding out his hand for a firm handshake. There was to be no bowing between individual Great Lords of the Alliance, only between the individual and the Roundtable. Outside of those meetings they were, at least _de jure, _equals “What's with the orchestra?”

“Ah, well you see,” the Count began with enthusiasm “A representative from the Mittelfrank Opera company had given me this wonderful score from a proposed play and I was determined to listen to how it would sound before the actual performance. A little preview if you will. Clearly the vocal parts cannot be done, but the instrumentals can be. I thought I would have a little more time before your arrival.” he explained.

Claude didn't know much about the opera, but what he'd gleamed from Professor Manuella in his time at the Academy was that it didn't take that many people to make the music. There seemed to be more fiddlers than cooks in this castle “If you have the score, do you need that many musicians? The orchestra pit isn't normally this big.” he asked.

“For the sound I want, yes.” Gloucester affirmed.

“Whatever happened to 'Less is More'?” Claude asked.

“Ah, but if 'Less is More' think how much more _**More**_ will be!” That was the problem when trying to speak in person to Gloucester. He was so good at seeming the out of touch noble, more concerned with commissioning over the top works of art than governing, focussing solely on appearances, much like if someone had hit Lorenz with thirty years of ageing and none of the experience, then you remembered how far he was willing to go for power. Not that there was much evidence against him, oh no, he was far too clever for that, clever enough to play the fool so convincingly until any suspicions had safely passed.

“Well good luck with that,” Claude said, trying not to sigh “But Mittelfrank can't be keeping you from the Roundtable. Have you been ill?” He asked, knowing well in advance that he hadn't.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Gloucester dismissed as he turned to lead Claude towards a more private and less noisy room “Unfortunately my attention was called away for a matter that really couldn't wait, not even for a meeting between the Great Lords.”

“It must have been important then...” Claude whistled.

“It is, and all will be revealed in due time but in the meanwhile I hope that my son sufficiently explained my position about the... current affairs. Mind your head, some of these passageways were designed for smaller men.” the Count said, ducking into his spacious solar.

“Lorenz essentially said that the Alliance should side with the Empire.” Claude said matter-of-factly, not even waiting for a seat to be offered as he sat down.

“Well... perhaps I was not clear with my instructions,” the Count winced “Lorenz is highly intelligent, although statecraft was regrettably not on the curriculum at Garreg Mach. Some of the more subtle aspects of the art would have been lost.”

“You disagree with your own son? I thought he was speaking on behalf of you.” Claude pointed out

“Yes and no,” Gloucester said, as though he'd rehearsed this speech a hundred times “The survival of the Alliance is of the utmost concern to myself and everyone at the table, I would hope. And for that we need take stock of our available options. No matter how unseemly they may be.”

“Lorenz seemed very confident that the Empire had this war in the bag,” Claude added “He was saying that we needed to be part of the winning team, so to speak.”

“That is where the subtleties eluded him. I am not speaking of open and official support of Empress Edelgard, to the point where we actively assist her in her goals.”

“Then what are you speaking of?”

“Diplomacy, open trade, maintaining our existing relations as though there isn't a war,” Gloucester explained “We need to make sure the young Empress does not look to us as villains to be struck down, yes, and by all accounts the Empire has the advantage, but we need not be so rash as to enact a pact with them now. It is one thing to have the advantage, another to convert that into victories. So far the war has proceeded at a glacial pace.”

“And if we jump in too soon, there's a chance we'll lose.”

“Oh no,” he dismissed “If the Alliance was to join forces with the Empire, the war in the west will be won but at the cost of too many of our soldiers. We would win regardless of the timing of our intervention but too early and we risk weakening ourselves to the point where the Imperial eye is turned to us not as allies, but as easy pickings. Stay our hand until the final moments and we'll be fine friends able to sooth the tired Empire, while our forces are willing and able to defend ourselves if necessary.” The Count explained. So far he was looking like a more intelligent weathervane and not much more.

“And if we're too late and the Empire is defeated? Before our forces arrive that is.” Claude asked

“If by some miracle the Kingdom prevails, well... then that matter that caused my absence will be even more vital than previously thought,” Gloucester explained with a grin as he stood up, striding his way towards his own chambers before re-emerging with a small but elaborate wooden chest “You can keep a secret, can't you Riegan?” He asked, a sinister grin growing as his gloves caressed the varnished wood, barely able to conceal his joy at having whatever was inside.

“What you show me will never leave these walls.” Claude promised. He was good at secrets, his whole existence had been a secret to most of the Alliance until his uncle's death, and this certainly _wasn't_ meant to be a big secret if he was giving it away so freely.

Setting the chest down on the table between them, the Count opened the lid revealing an old silver goblet inside. The inside had been stained by centuries of wines and feasting while black marks were scattered across the outside but there on the base, pressed into the metal, was the Crest of Seiros “Remarkable isn't it?” Gloucester whispered as he stared at his prize “Year One, the founding of the Empire. The Goblet that Saint Seiros herself drank out of.”

Despite trying his best to seem disinterested and stoic, Claude had to admit that this was something he wasn't expecting out of the Count “Impressive, so this little piece of history kept you busy.”

“Indeed, the result of months of negotiations. There are lesser pieces of the past as well but this I feel is the most significant.” Gloucester nodded, still staring at the goblet of saints.

“How do you know it's real?”

“Because,” he began, tilting his head to look up at Claude in an a sinister way “I received it from the Holy Mausoleum myself.” Count Gloucester chuckled “The Emperor has no need for what has little... practical concerns, and has found it fitting to sell what she can to an appropriate buyer.”

Claude stiffened at the thought, were all the Church's secrets now on sale? Was his work during his time at the Academy insignificant compared to merely turning up on market day? “So Edelgard is selling what she can to bulk up her war chest, that doesn't explain why it's important to us.”

“But it does! Think about it Claude, I can call you Claude can't I? The Emperor has no concept, not the slightest care as to the true value of these items... but the Church does, and so will the Archbishop,” Gloucester explained “If the ire of the Holy Kingdom comes down on us, we merely have to explain that it was through our efforts that so many priceless artefacts have been saved. If no-one would buy these off the Empire and they start wondering how to finance their army, you can be sure that they would be wasted. Smelted down for coin, a thousand years gone! For a week of loyalty from an overgrown, unwashed _**lout**_ with no breeding that didn't involve pigs but a polearm!” He ranted.

“And so we explain that any trade we have had been a small price to pay to save so much history, should the Kingdom prevail.” Claude finished.

“Yes, yes of course.” Gloucester breathed, closing the small chest.

“Well, I guess that settles that. When do you plan on announcing this grand design of yours?” The Duke asked, dramatically slapping his thighs as he stood up, the universal gesture of 'This conversation has gone on too long and I should be doing other things.'

“Best if this is something kept between us lest it send every noble in the Alliance rushing to the gates of Garreg Mach,” the Count said “It's a delicate balance with the Emperor. She may be young but her second will immediately sense the desperation and bilk us out of every copper they can get.” To which Claude interpreted as 'I don't want anyone else muscling in on my relic racket.'

But it wasn't as if the purple haired count wanted this to be completely secret either, otherwise he would have never shown the goblet without pressure. He must have suspected Claude knew about the weapons rolling into Garreg Mach to bring out the prize so willingly, pre-emptively shutting down any potential discussions of misdeeds. Any assistance given to the Empire was just the cost of saving priceless Church artefacts from the furnace of the Imperial Mint, or so he'd argue.

Dinner past without further comment, it was hard to have discussions on matters of state with a hundred musicians still crowding around the dining hall, but something wasn't sitting right with the Duke. From the reports Judith provided Gloucester was still receiving regular payment for the weapon shipments, so where did the treasures feature in this? Were the Empire that desperate to get rid of them that they'd been sold on the cheap? Was Gloucester sneaking in payments with the regular weapon shipments to make sure that the artefact trade was harder to see, or was there something else going on here? Either way, he wasn't getting information in these walls, not directly anyway. Added to that he'd no doubt drilled the staff not to enter discussions with the duke so the 'sneak off and get the cook to spill the beans' strategy was out of the question.

Claude needed to leave as quickly as he arrived, setting off at first light the next morning to head towards the Great Bridge. He couldn't afford to stay too long in any one place outside of Derdriu and while it had been a pleasant experience etc. etc. he really should be on his way and back to business. It was a mutual sigh of relief as he rode Pasha out of sight, Claude on the back of the Wyvern and Count Gloucester from the balcony.

Pacing back to his private study, the purple haired man didn't even flinch when he heard another man's voice “You worry too much,” Came the voice so oily it could grease clockwork. “He suspects little and knows less.”

“He's a nuisance!” Gloucester hissed “The little rat with his white wyvern... where did he even get that beast?”

“Perhaps a drink will calm your nerves. Nothing has changed from that child's visit.” The guest soothed, uncorking a small bottle and pouring half the contents into a crystal mug and the other into an old silver goblet with black marks around the outside.

“Yes, yes... thank you Arundel.” the Count sighed, stepping over to grasp the crystal glass and letting the morning light illuminate his guest. Dressed in a regal robe, he lounged on his chair, slicked black hair draping over the back as he took a sip of wine, revealing the Crest of Seiros at the base of the goblet.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I know I have too many projects on the go already but what's one more to the pile I'm already neglecting? Anyway, this is going to bounce between the three major factions in the Crimson Flower route rather than stay focused on the Black Eagle Strike Force so expect to see a Rhea & Dimitri controlled Kingdom and Claude trying to make the Alliance hold together.


End file.
